


spasm to the sounds

by fanatic_by_definition



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Infinity on High era (ish), Inspired by Music, M/M, Tender Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanatic_by_definition/pseuds/fanatic_by_definition
Summary: We've got work in the morning
  
  But it's nearly five a.m.
  
  Is this really what we envisioned
  
  We won't be 21 again





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i've been listening to Amber Run's song "5AM" on repeat for two days and it's been making me feel things and when i sat in front of my computer tonight, this poured out of me. it's short and mostly unedited and i have no idea if it's good or not but i had to write something about the emotions this song evokes for me, so here it is. i hope you enjoy. <3

He looks so young, so very, very young lying there on the rumpled sheets of their bed and Pete can’t help but stare. The bedside lamp was turned off hours ago so the only light filtering through the room is a rusty orange—bleeding off the streetlights outside their window—and it makes Patrick’s hair seem golden where it’s fanned out against the white pillow beneath his head. It paints his pale skin with color and he almost looks like he’s glowing.

The singer looks up at Pete with a question in his riptide eyes, reddened mouth open and bare chest heaving lightly. Pete blinks once and leans down to answer him.

It’s 4:28 a.m., according to the red numbers flashing on the alarm clock beside the bed. They have to leave for the airport by 6:30. It’s inescapable that they’ll both be bone-tired on that plane to New York but neither of them cares in the slightest.

Well, Pete doesn’t. Patrick, while he definitely seems into this from the way he’s clinging to Pete’s back and kissing him like the only oxygen he needs to live comes from Pete’s lungs, whispers between their mouths, “Should—Should we—?”

He barely gets the words out before Pete breathes, “Yes.” An objection never comes.

One of them decided to put on some music before they started this. Pete can’t remember which of them it was, but the song playing right now from the Macbook on the dresser across the room is just perfect. It’s nothing more than an emotional piano and some ambient percussion, but god, it practically harmonizes with the soft gasps Patrick’s making as Pete kisses his neck.

This feels different than any of the other times they’ve done this. When they’re rushing it backstage or crammed together in one of their miniscule bunks on the bus, there’s rapid movements and hushed, desperate words exchanged between bitten-back whimpers. When they’re alone, there’s usually shouting and cursing and biting and bruising, both of them so caught up in the moment and the need for _moremoremore_ that they let go of their control and unhinge a little. It can be tender and heartfelt at times, of course, and more often than not those elements are definitely present.

But this is…Pete doesn’t think they’ve ever done anything like what they’re doing now. Every sound, every touch, every movement is quiet and gentle but burning with passion the likes of which neither of them have ever experienced. Their noises don’t have to be soft here, in their own bedroom, in their own home—but they are, and something about that makes Pete’s heart clench behind his ribs.

Maybe it’s because they haven’t seen each other in a week and half, Pete taking care of Decaydance and Clandestine business in L.A. while Patrick stayed behind in Chicago. Maybe it’s because of the new cologne Patrick was wearing earlier, or the way his lips had tasted sweeter than strawberry wine when Pete had kissed him goodnight nearly seven hours ago. Truthfully, Pete doesn’t care what’s causing this divine, electric experience. He just wants to drown in it, and more importantly, drag Patrick down with him.

 _Could this be it?_ the older man wonders as he carefully twists two slicked fingers into the love of his life, staring down into those enchanting blue eyes and watching them flutter closed. _Is this what making love really feels like?_

All he knows for sure is there’s something else in the air, thick and tangible and almost physical in the way it’s clinging to their skin. Pete feels it pressing down on his shoulders and he lets it knock him over as he slowly pushes into Patrick’s warm, welcoming body several minutes later. He pants against the sweat-damp skin of Patrick’s neck and nuzzles into it, sighing as the singer’s strong limbs wrap around him entirely. When he feels Patrick swivel his hips a bit, Pete starts to move.

It’s a slow, even, deep rhythm they establish, a perfect counterpoint to the rapid beating of both their hearts. The only sounds in the mostly-darkened room are the music, Patrick’s feather-soft whimpers, Pete’s hitches of breath, the reticent collisions of their hips, and the gentle squeaking of the mattress springs beneath them. Pete presses mindless, open-mouthed kisses to Patrick’s jaw and cheeks, and Patrick sighs in bliss when their lips finally meet. Their tongues dance together like fireflies in the inky darkness of a July night, performing a masterfully-choreographed number that only Pete and Patrick know the secret to. Pete is dizzy from sensation overload and he knows he could never get a high like this from any drug on the planet.

Everything is so slow and meaningful that Pete starts to shake with it after a few short minutes. Patrick is trembling, too, flushed and pliant in the bassist’s tattooed arms, and the soft sobs he lets out every time Pete hits that spot inside him are melodic. Each one ratchets up the steadily-building pleasure bubbling in Pete’s gut; he knows it won’t be long now for either of them.

Sure enough, about a minute later, the world fades away around them in an explosion of heat and light. Pete rides it out as best he can while urging Patrick through it at the same time, pushing into him over and over until he can’t hold himself up on his elbows any longer. With one final, unanimous sigh of satisfaction, the two of them go limp and melt against each other like cooling candle wax. Pete gathers Patrick against his chest and pets his hair and kisses his forehead with more devotion than he’s ever known to exist. The younger man responds in kind, pressing his trembling lips to the overheated skin of Pete’s chest.

They’ll have to wake up in an hour, be out of the house in two. They’ll be on a plane in four. In Manhattan in seven. On a tour bus in eight. Onstage in about twelve. By then, they may have forgotten what they’re feeling right now, bare and tangled up together amongst soft, dampened sheets with their hearts beating as one.

As he finally drifts off to sleep with Patrick already dozing on his chest, Pete knows that even if they do forget, they have a lifetime ahead of them to discover it all over again.

###


End file.
